Of Fur and Flame Book Three: The Wars of Winter
by Killy-S
Summary: The mink King is set to wage war, but what will winter hold at Salamandastron?
1. Chapter 1: To Battle

Book Three: The wars of winter

**A/N: And we're onto Book three. How exciting. Thank you to everyone who has been so kind as to help me with this project. **

Chapter 1: To battle

Within hours of his mate being laid in the frozen earth, Fredik called a council of war. Having waited all autumn for the call to arise, the mink captains formed up in the main hall. They were joined by the mercenaries and wave vermin their master had enticed. The displeasure of the local minks was openly present in their dark eyes. Uniform tabards stood in stark contrast to the ragged travel cloaks and searat silks of the others.

After much insistence, Nicara joined those in attendance. She didn't wish to hear about the events second-paw from Vaniska. She and Konnel stood beside the young warlord, careful to watch who he conversed with. The minks tended to ignore Vaniska, or pay him little heed. They showed him no ill will, in part due to their fear of Yeevada's seer abilities. The wave vermin and mercenaries didn't know what to make of the young fox. They too showed hesitancy around him, as they rightfully suspected he was naught but a puppet to another. But as with many things in life, there was always an exception. One searat had taken a shine to young Vaniska. To Nicara's great annoyance it was none other than Captain Verdereaux. He had a reputation as the most feared, and admired searat to sail the region. As far as searats went Verdereaux served many capacities. He and his crew were fearsome pirates, a true boon to have on Fredik's side. They were also successful slave traders. The reason Verdereaux agreed to aid the mink, was the promise that he could take his share of woodland serfs. He also had a reputation of being quite eccentric in his dealings. Nobeast would dare say the rat was mad, while strange he still held a firm, if not askew grasp on sanity. He favoured exotic foods, fine wines, and garbs of the most elegant design. Had it not been the cutlass tucked in his sash or the crew at his back, he might appear as some elegant squire.

The colourful captain strolled about the main hall as if it were his own castle. Unlike many of the searats Nicara had previously encountered, he was curiously clean. Indeed his fur seemed freshly washed and combed, his long whiskers waxed and curled at the ends. He wore a frock coat of green velvet and a tri-corner hat. On each claw, which was carefully polished, he wore heavy gold rings embellished with varying jewels.

"Ah, Vaniska dees is de day we all wait for." The searat pulled with young fox towards him. "We sail t'glory n'blood. " He laughed clapping Vaniska heartily on the back.

Fredik arrived, holding up his paws to silence the assembly. When they were at last silent, he addressed them.

"Tomorrow at dawn ve vill sail into de landz of mine long time foe Tarza. She, who has cheated us, stole from us. Vorse still betrayed her fellow minkz in de election fer emperor. Vat t'do vit such a beast. I know dis answer. Ve burn her!"

There was a cry of support rising from the assembled vermin. Vaniska clenched his jaw, mentally preparing for the task ahead. While fire had long served him well, he did not especially look forward to the flames he would be asked to light for Fredik.

Orders were set. Vaniska and his crew would sail alongside Verdereaux and his rats. The searats would provide a distraction while Vaniska set to his work. To Nicara's great displeasure the other ships wouldn't land until after her creatures had set to their assigned task.

"We're to be fodder for Tarza's troops." She snapped as they left the main hall.

"Careful with your words Nicara." Konnel warned. "We have enough fighting beasts, I've sized up Verdereaux's rats, and you should be most safe." The white fox tried not to sound too condescending. He had served as a guard long enough to know, that the higher up a beast became, the more they feared for their own pelt. Konnel wished his lady had opted to remain in Fredik's territory. It would save him the trouble of having to fight against Tarza's beagles, and keep an eye on her. For all she thought herself a tactician, Nicara was no warrior.

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Yeevada would not be going into battle. The decree came from Fredik himself, not that Nicara would argue with it. The mink king wanted the vixen to remain with his young son. His orders were that she was to oversee his care. Fredik afforded to her any resources she may require in raising his most prized possession. While Yeevada knew the art of healing, and appeared to have the gift of a seer, she knew little of child rearing. The task had fallen to older vixens in her band, she knew some of the skills required but did not trust herself with such an important babe. It was clear she needed other females to help her. The vixen did not seek out the help of minks; she didn't trust them, as they didn't trust her. Instead she pulled from the vermin Nicara had brought with her from the south lands.

One old stoat stood out to Yeevada as a likely candidate. She remembered the stoat Grabul had been kindly to her during the voyage. When they first arrived in Fredik's land, she recalled this particular creature bragging that of the twelve kits she gave life to, eight lived to mature. A number any stoat could be proud of. Yeevada wasted no time seeking this beast out. Old Grabul was pleased to assist with the little prince; after all it meant she wouldn't have to follow the rest to the battle ground. While the stoat undoubtedly knew how to care for infants, there was one area she could not assist in. With no mother, the little mink still needed milk. Although it was the winter season, finding a suitable wet-nurse proved easier than the vixen expected. It seemed there was no shortage of females willing to let their whelps starve in exchange for a roof over their heads and warm food in their bellies. Yeevada selected one young weasel for the task. The whimpering weasel kit was left in the winter snow, while its mother joined the vixen and the old stoat.

"I can't git 'im t'take it." The young weasel complained. In her arms the tiny babe wriggled avoiding all her efforts to get him to nurse.

The old stoat was quickly losing patience and held a quick whispered conference with Yeevada. "Snidel's too young, shouldn't 'ave been allowed t'whelp herself let alone nurse a king's kit."

The vixen watched the weasel in her efforts. "Dis is vy I chose her, she's young. Ve only need her till vinters end, I didn't vant a beast to cause trouble." Sighing, she nodded to the stoat. "Help her Grabul afore she strangles the little mink.

Taking the babe from Snidel's paws, the Grabul spoke sternly to the young weasel. "Lie down before ye hurt ye'self." Motioning to the soft bed the chamber provided, Grabul carefully held the babe while getting Snidel into the desired position. Fluffing up a pillow she helped the weasel lay on her side, but not without the encouragement of a few well placed smacks. "Shift y'self y'worthless weasel. "

Once Snidel settled to Grabul's liking she set the babe down on the bed. The little mink wriggled and squirmed until he could latch himself on. Snidel was caught off guard. "How'd 'e do that?"

"No need to smother the babe and wear y'self down by pressing 'im to ya. When a babe's hungry he'll find y'hisself. "The old stoat explained sitting behind the weasel. Keeping an eye on the prince she patted Snidel's head in encouragement. For all that Snidel bothered her; Grabul couldn't help but feel an overwhelming pity for her. This weasel was little more than a child herself; she had no place having her own babes. Yet Grabul had lived long enough not to be so naive to the ways of weasel like creatures. Winter nights were cold, and weasels had to grow up quickly.

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At Salamandastron, the Long Patrol was also preparing to enter into battle. Despite the bitter cold, troops trained and prepared themselves for the long march north. The first set of patrols had already departed. Now those going to offer relief were preparing to meet with their comrades. The waiting game had begun, armed and ready, the hares selected to go could only bide their time and await official orders to move.

Troth the warrior mouse of Redwall, had been following the unfolding events closely. At the midday meal he joined Colonel Hardan at his table. "I would like to join the hares marching north." He announced, although it was no surprise to anybeast.

"Out of the question my dear mouse." The old hare didn't as much as look up from his soup.

"But, Sir, I have been a warrior my entire life, my skills are just as developed as any of your hares."

Wiping his drooping mustache with his napkin Hardan nodded. "That may be laddie buck, but I still can't let you go."

Troth was starting to feel like an imploring dibbun begging his elder to let him stay up past bedtime. "Why is that sir?"

"Quite simple actually, t'start with I can't bally well put the life of a guest in danger. However, more importantly, yer the blinking warrior of Redwall Abbey. Their chief line of defense dontcha know. True those vermin are only focuses around the northlands for now. But what if in a season or so, some escape my Long Patrol and decide to press inland. You'll be needed back at Redwall. "

Troth's face fell, he understood where his duty lay, yet he had hoped in joining the fabled fighting hares in battle. To cheer the mouse up Hardan quickly added.

"Y'know, with so many sword slinging chaps marching off, we'll need somebeast t'help teach our young cadets. Fancy taking on the job of instructor till winter's end?"

Troth had already been helping in a smaller capacity, so he was quick to nod in agreement.

"Capital." Hardan smiled, and returned to his soup. What had started as a quiet meal quickly became all the livelier as more of the officers came to sit at the table. Down at the far end of the table, Lieutenant Aubrey and Captain Bloomberry enjoyed their hot mushroom soup. A young runner scurried up to the pretty young Captain and passed her a folded piece of parchment. Giving a quick salute he grinned broadly then ran to join his young friends for lunch. Blomberry opened the message and smiled, reading it to herself. Waving a spoon at his friend Aubrey questioned.

"Wots all that then?"

Bloomberry quickly folded the paper and laid it beside her bowl. "If you must know, it's a poem Lieutenant Damrey wrote for me. "

"Humph, didn't think y'could use runners for those types of messages." Aubrey huffed.

"Am I sensing jealousy there chum?" Bloomberry smiled, reading over the message once more.

"Hardly! Me, jealous of Damrey? Are you courting the duffer then?"

Bloomberry shook her head taking another spoonful of soup. "No, I'm not involved with Damrey, despite his best efforts."

Aubrey reached a paw across the table. "Then you won't mind me reading the little poem then wot."His paw was quickly slapped, and the message tucked away in Bloomberry's tunic, where Aubrey's paws wouldn't stray. He rubbed his paw ruefully. "Well if you're not involved with him, why can't I read it?"

"Because it's private you silly scut."

Further banter between the pair was brought to a halt when the supplies quartermaster, a tubby sergeant by name of Hurdlow, marched up to the Colonel. Curiously Aubrey and Bloomberry watched as he addressed the senior officer.

"Sah, I believe there 'as been an h'error in a rations request." He presented the parchment to Hardan.

The older hare popped in his monocle and looked over the writing. "Hmm, let me see now: one flagon of damson port wine, two portions of golden cheese, two portions of basil and nut cheese, a loaf of wheat bread, a pot of raspberry jelly, a pot of honey, two large mushroom and leek flans, an apple pie, and half a dozen butter tarts?" Puzzling over this request he scratched his chin. "Great seasons, who ever requested this lot?"

Hurdlow leaned forward and pointed to the signature. "Why, you did sah. This is why I've questioned it. This manner of scoff isn't meant for rations request, Sah, mayhaps y'ment to request it for a council meeting or some such wot?" Hurdlow spoke very carefully; afraid Hardan might take his words to imply he was going senile.

"Nonsense, I know which form is which." Hardan put away his monocle, ears flexing in thought. "Which chap brought this request t'you?"

"It never went t'me personally sah. One of my corporals took it last night. I believe it was Lieutenant Brea delivered it."

"Brea eh, dashed strange. " Hardan looked about the table expecting to see the hare in question eating with the rest. "He's always the responsible type. Y'sure it wasn't Aubrey."

"Sah?" The sergeant looked insulted that Hardan would suggest such a thing. "H'all those managing our supplies 'ave been informed that Lieutenant Aubrey is not to be granted any access to the Salamandastron food stores. Nor is he to present request slips or sign off on them."

"Yes, well, dismissed for now Sergeant. I'll find Brea and sort this out." Hardan, still puzzled glanced down the table and called out to Aubrey. "Have you seen Brea about t'day?"

Aubrey looked down at his soup, for all the times he did it, he didn't especially like lying to Hardan. "Er, rather, not t'day, 'spose the chaps busy, wot with impending battle and wot not." What Aubrey didn't say was Brea hadn't returned to their shared living quarters the past night.

Bloomberry finished off her soup, and wiped her bowl clean with a piece of bread. "Romantic isn't it. I've never had a chap risk being put on charge for me."

Aubrey's ears wriggled in the Captain's direction. "If that's what it takes m'dear, I can toss insults at the Colonel until he sees fit to toss me in the guardhouse. "

This brought gales of laughter from several of Aubrey's peers, and a fatherly glance from Hardan.

"I'd watch it if I was you Lieutenant. You're just about one blinking pawstep away from being a Sergeant." He spoke in a light mannered way, but his words still carried the hint of warning.

The jovial Aubrey piped down immediately, and focused once more on his meal. While the winter winds whipped around their mountain stronghold the hares kept their spirits high with warm meals. It seems the cooks knew just the thing to keep the troops contented. Hot mushroom soup, with heavy wheat and nut bread, lots of cheese and scones dripping with honey for after. The whole mess filled with the aroma of hot apple cider, which was mulling away for suppertime. The smell hinting at future delights to come.

One young hare, on mess duties wandered up to the officer's table to collect unneeded bowls and plates to be washed. He pushed a trolley before him; it announced his presence wherever he went as the rear wheel was in dire need of grease. As with many young hares, he held a certain admiration for Aubrey. Perhaps it was his youthful antics, or the fact he always took the time to listen to the young cadets. The young hare saluted smartly.

"Afternoon sah, scrummy scoff wot?"

Aubrey smiled, and passed the young buck his bowl. Instead of carrying on, the young creature lingered a moment longer.

"Beg pardon sah, but are we expecting prisoners?"

The question caught Aubrey off guard. "Whatever do you mean young 'un?"

Keeping his voice to a whisper he explained. "Well sah, last evening Lieutenant Brea asked if I would add a fresh layer of straw in the guardhouse. Asked me t'move an ole table an' chairs there too. So I got t' thinking, mayhaps there's prisoners coming, an' nobeast is telling us younger set."

"Brea asked you to do this?" Aubrey passed a knowing nod towards Bloomberry. "Well young sirrah, I think it is safe t'say there are no prisoners bound for our guardhouse. So don't you fret y'self none." Clapping the hare on his shoulder he sent him on his way.

"Jolly strange, gone all night, table and chairs in the guardhouse, best blinking scoff taken from the larders..."

Bloomberry sighed smiling. "I dear say it is the most romantic thing I've ever heard."

Aubrey made a face. "Oh you would say that wouldn't you."

At long last Brea made his appearance, accompanied by Mayweed. Their arrival at the meal table was met with several low whispers. Ignoring these Brea took up his usual place alongside Aubrey.

"Are we expecting prisoners mate?" Aubrey asked trying to maintain a straight face. He couldn't help but note a flush in Mayweed's cheeks.

"Er, what in fur's name gave you that idea ole chap?" Brea largely ignored Aubrey, as he frequently did.

"An' where were you last night?"

"Guard duty." Brea answered, not skipping a beat.

Winking to Bloomberry, Aubrey grinned. "An' Captain, when was the last time you did guard duty here at Salamandastron."

Catching the wink Bloomberry made quite the show of tapping her chin and humming and hawing as she thought. "Let me see, not since m'days as a carefree young cadet. What about you Aubrey?"

"Not since I was a sergeant, watching over those carefree young cadets. Captain, tell me, have you ever heard of a Lieutenant…"

"One of the Sergeants took ill, I simply replaced him." Brea quickly cut Aubrey off.

"Which one?"

"Does it blinking matter?"

"Yes actually."

"Sergeant McFarrdow."

"Ha, that chap was not on guard rotation last night!" Aubrey clapped his paws in triumph. "Now tell me wots going on."

"An' how in the name o' seasons would you know that wot?" Bree was quite stunned by his friend's knowledge on the subject.

Wriggling his ears the cheek Aubrey replied. "Just because m'blinking eyes are closed doesn't mean I'm not listening during briefings."

The antics of the pair had attracted the attention of the rest of the table. All eyes fell on Brea, curiously wondering what exactly had happened. The usually responsible young officer put down his spoon and addressed the table.

"I had hoped to explain under far less, aggravating circumstances. " He cast a cool glance towards Aubrey. "But as you've probably already sorted, Mayweed and I are getting married. "

Mayweed, who had been previously hiding her paws, showed off a silver pawring Brea had given her. "It has been in Brea's family for seasons. He gave it to me last night." She explained to the onlookers and well wishers.

Amid all the paw shaking and back pounding, Aubrey sat in his seat with a bemused look. "Engaged?" He blinked several times. "Brea, Mayweed can't bally well live with us."

It was then Brea's time to look baffled. "'course not chum, I've already put in for new quarters. "

"New quarters? But what about me?" Aubrey's voice raised several octaves shriller.

Brea patted his friend's shoulders. "Come now Aubrey, y'are a big beast now, y'll be just fine wot."


	2. Chapter 2: Whale Oil

Chapter Two: Whale Oil

The voyage to the territories of Tarza was met with mixed anticipation. They sailed in close quarters, packing in as many beasts as possible. When the lookout announced the sight of land, all paws scrambled on deck. They expected to see Tarza's beasts waiting for them, with arrows and javelins at the ready, but nobeast could be seen. There was an eerie calm about the beach. Konnel didn't trust it, with all the time Fredik wasted preparing for the attack, surly Tarza had gotten wind of their plans. The mink queen would be a fool not to have spies in the far reaches of the empire. He ordered the archers and sling throwers to move forward with weapons at the ready. One archer, perhaps out of excitement, or inexperience let loose a shaft. It sailed across the beach landing at the forest fringe. Konnel readied himself for some unseen ambushers to spring from the trees at attack, it never came. Easing up a bit the vermin disembarked. The searats too had arrived, each with cutlass to paw. Verdereaux's rats brought with them large barrels. With muscles bulging the strongest of the rat crews transported them ashore, straining under the weight. Nicara turned up her nose at the smell that seemed to come from the containers.

"What is this?" She demanded, suspecting it to be some vile searat drink.

One of the rats let down his load answering "L'huile de la grande baleine." This answer did nothing to satisfy Nicara's inquiry. The finely dressed Captain translated. "Whale oil"

Vaniska and Verdereaux had engaged in many long conversations about the substance. The arson fox was pleased with the way this oil burned. While the smoke was thicker, the fires were fed longer than they would be with the typical lamp oils or vegetable based oils he had used before. Verdereaux's hold contained forty barrels of the stuff boiled down from the fat of a deep sea whale that washed up on the rat's home shore. The oil had not been fully refined there were still a number of stages to go in order to get it to the quality beasts would pay highly for. Upon seeing the substance, as crude as it was, Vaniska convinced Fredik to trade for the entire cargo. The arson had great plans for these barrels.

Nobeast seemed to notice the bitter cold. Each was far more worried about crossing one of Tarza's hounds than the consequences of frostbite. While the snow was a great hindrance to marching, it provided an easy method of transferring their supplies. Vaniska's crew made light work of the smaller trees growing on the outskirts of the beach. Using rope lashings they formed makeshift yet effective sledges. Wayta secured one of the barrels, ensuring it would not be damaged during the long drag. He pulled the tow rope over his shoulder, and with the help of Bittail shifted his burden. The searat grunted under the weight of the barrel. "Y'sure Vaniska knows wot 'es doing?"

Wayta didn't pause, and followed the others keeping his head down and watching his paws. "Can I be sure any of us know what we're doing?" He muttered to himself.

They still had not been met with any resistance. This confused, and worried Konnel. "We should send out scouts." He began looking for appropriate candidates when Nicara stopped him.

"Why send out creatures off into a frozen wasteland. Tarza suspects nothing. Besides it is up to that buffoon of a rat to offer up a distraction. "

On cue Nicara's words were greeted by a loud uproar of warcries and destruction. It was indeed Verdereaux's distraction. While Vaniska sought out his targets, Verdereaux ordered his crew to set flame to arrows and fire upon the forest. Then with ferocious warcries and the pounding of drums, or anything on paw that could make noise, they sought to baffle and confuse any creature they might happen upon.

Konnel had his doubts about their tactics. Perhaps such actions worked on woodlanders Verdereaux's crew rounded up as slaves, but Konnel suspected trained minks and hounds were not as easily fooled. Konnel drew his blade, and closely watched the arson. Vaniska was in his element, he seemed oblivious to anything happening around him save for his one objective. His eyes keenly scanned the frozen countryside. Motioning Wayta to him he pointed to the west.

"See there, farmland, I can just make the tops of barns from here. I'll wager they have food supplies there. Send some o' the crew to warm it up nicely. You'll know the signal."

Wayta nodded and rounded up the creatures needed for the task. They took only one barrel of oil with them, and departed as quickly as they could trample through the snow.

Vaniska led the rest of his vermin in the direction of Tarza's strong hold. Snow covered the roof peeks, each barely seen over the high wall. Wisps of white smoke indicated that indeed there were creatures within the stone walls. Chimney smoke seemed to be the only indicator of inhabitance. There were no guards to be seen, not even on the high walls. The spear carrying rats were nowhere in sight. What seemed to startle Vaniska's vermin all the more was the absence of the dreaded beagles. They too couldn't be seen. The fox make a paw motion ordering two of his arsons to round to the back. The plan of attack was simple. Vaniska's arsons would light the wooden gates, and then vanish into the forest. The smoke would alert the searats who would then break from their distraction and charge. The arrangement wasn't without faults. Vaniska had no way of knowing if the rats were indeed engaged in battle. Perhaps Tarza wouldn't send away troops to investigate. They hadn't passed any patrols on the way. Konnel kept a close eye on Vaniska and the arsons. He watched as the arson coated ships rope with whale oil. With the help of another he twisted the long lengths into a cord. Sneaking to the gate they laid their creation at the base. More oil was slathered from barrels over the wooden base. Then the barrel was carefully laid on the side. Gleefully, Vaniska struck flint to tinder. The cord sprang to life. The oil caused it to heat up quickly high flames flickered at the gate, black smoke rising wafting the rancid smell up the wall. It wasn't long before the barrel caught fire, and the raging flames lapped away at the gates. Quickly they hurried back to the tree cover to watch the flames lick at the wood. Not wanting to dally around too long, despite loving to watch his work, Vaniska ordered his creatures to move. Alarm bells could already be found, and at any moment armed creatures would be appearing. They slunk along the side of the wall, hoping to see the other side gate lit up as well. There was no burning, no smell of smoke. Vaniska felt a sick knot in his stomach. Pawing through the snow he soon discovered why the fire was not lit. The two weasels sent on the task never made it to the gate. They hung, caught up in the trees. A fine cord tightly pulled around each neck. For the first the force of being caught up clearly fractured his neck, likely killing him on impact. The other had an unhealthy pallor about his lips, death had not come so quickly. Vaniska gulped hard, not fancying being strangled in such a gruesome way. Konnel raised his blade cutting the air right in front of him. There was a slight _Twang_ as a trap was cut. With his blade tip he held aloft the fine cord. "Snares." He warned. "They're expecting us."

More than one of the arsons ran a paw over their necks nervously. Plucking up their courage, two more volunteers were harshly selected to finish the task of lighting all the side gates. Anything made of wood was to be burned. The two vermin a ferret and stoat walked slowly their paws outstretched as if sleepwalking. In truth they were trying to detect snares, figuring if they got their paw caught, it was better than their throat. Without the aid of their fellow vermin they were very much on their own. Lugging rope and oilskin sacks of oil, they tried to be as quiet as possible.

It didn't matter how quiet they were, Hunter could have smelled the intruders a mile away. The beagle Captain had known for some time that Fredik was planning something, although what exactly he couldn't be sure. As he watched Vaniska's arsons attempt to sneak though the forest, he felt quite disappointed. He had anticipated a better showing from a mink such as Fredik. The hope of a worthy foe beast was what Hunter lived for. These vermin were easy pickings. He could have laughed at how easily the weasels walked into his simple trap. The dogs lay low, tails wagging with excitement. Hunter decided that for the sake of morale he would let his hounds have some fun. They hadn't had anything to chase all winter. A baying howl echoed over the frozen forest. The ferret and stoat froze. Eyes locked on the hounds dashing through the snow after them. It would have been wiser for them to remain quivering in fear. Death would have come simple for them then, but no, as Hunter predicted they would run. His dogs were strong runners they beat hard on the heels of the vermin. Breaking up some of the hounds rounded through the trees cutting off their prey forcing them to change direction. It was a game for them, but a game they soon grew tired of. Ferrets and stoats were not known for being good distance runners. The dogs fell upon them, gnashing teeth and brandishing clubs; they beat and tore into the arsons with unspeakable cruelty. There was the sickening sound of cracking as the hounds broke the legs of their prey. The small clubs they carried crashed down on their ankles and knees, which for even the cruelest of beast might be enough. An ankle fracture would prevent anybeast from running off. As they hadn't had a fight in a while the beagles didn't stop there. They were not satisfied until their victims lay unmoving from bruised and battered legs, shattered shoulder blades and other numerous hurts. Stoat and ferret could no longer scream, the pain blinded their eyes and robbed sound from their throat. When the vermin resembled grotesque rag dolls Hunter ended the game. Drawing out his dagger he slit their throats. Leaving them to stain the winter snow, he rounded up his half score of hounds. "You must not get sloppy." He admonished them, "your fun may cost us greatly. The time you waste playing with your prey, could be spent rounding up and driving out others. Do not get carried away." Wiping his blade on a tree he nodded for them to continue giving chase. "Sniff them out."

With noses held high and white tipped tails wagging the hounds followed the scent trail left by Vaniska and his vermin. Having heard the bay of dogs, the others were not going to lie around and wait. All who heard the call turned tail and ran. The foxes Konnel and Vaniska were undoubtedly the swiftest. Nimble paws raced over the stone paths and snow drifts. Several of the weasels climbed up nearby trees hoping that would protect them from the pursuing hounds. Their tactics seemed to work, as the hounds ran right past them. Running at a breakneck pace, Vaniska's arsons expected death to come at any moment. For some it did, as the hounds caught up with them, their small clubs knocking them over, so the rest would be easy. Others were far luckier; the searats had begun to move. Hearing the barks of the dogs they readied their weapons. Verdereaux had many fine sling-beasts in his crew. This was fortunate, as projectiles seemed to be the only thing to slow these hounds down. A volley of stones flew over Vaniska and his crew. One of the front running hounds was hit, his lifeless body swerved to the right knocking out another beagle that had been in pursuit. Hunter called off the chase, he had anticipated cowards. He wouldn't let those under his command be needlessly killed. "Back to the fortress, see that those fires go…" He paused then let out a loud howl of dismay. In the distance all he could see were flames. "Back, back, sound an alarm."

At the first sign of smoke, Wayta had set the entire farm and storage barns alight. He knew this couldn't be the entire food stores. Tarza wouldn't be that much of a fool. She would keep plenty of food stores within the castle walls. The food out here was likely for the common people, those who served her. All Wayta had to do was starve out the locals in the middle of winter, and he was bound to give the mink a blow she could not recover from. Even hungry peasants get rebellious.

Once they were out of harm's way, Nicara rounded on the two dog foxes. "What is the meaning of this?" She screamed, as if Vaniska or Konnel had caused the events. At his wife's temper Vaniska coward, however Konnel was not going to allow a vixen to shout at him.

"They knew we would be coming. If it were not for the searats, and Wayta's fire we'd be dead." He snapped back. "Return to the boats, we regroup and make a new plan of attack. Nicara, you will stay at the ship." He glared at his lady, quickly growing weary of her.


	3. Chapter 3: Plague

Chapter Three: Plague

The fires Wayta has set burned long into the night. Tarza had ordered beasts to put out the blaze, but her minks were picked off by searats before they could even make it to the fires. As Wayta had predicted the mink queen still had stores of food and supplies within her keep, but outlaying supplies were intended for reserve. The loss of such supplies and fields would be devastating to the serfs who were needed to maintain the nobility.

Back at the ship Konnel was lost in worries of his own. Not worry of food and supplies, but what to do about Tarza's hounds. The rapping on the door interrupted him. Opening the cabin door he saw a crewbeast, cap in paw respectfully.

"Sir, Fredik's troops are arriving. Just thought ye ought t'know."

The fox waved him off, returning to his contemplation. Burning the gates would require some cover, perhaps the rats and some of Fredik's forces could provide that. Then there was the issue of what to do once they were inside the walls. Scratching his ears he thought hard. He was disturbed by the sounds of cries coming from outside. Fearing the worst he got on deck and spied the cause of the commotion.

On shore the searats were assembling and rounding up beasts they had found during the day's activities. Shouting orders the crew assembled the mice, voles, otters and squirrels. Bound with chains they were marched along the beach and sized up for their worth. Some destined to be chained to a ships oar, other's to be kept in the hold and sold off at the first chance. Their wails and pleads for mercy were causing quite a stir. Konnel turned away from the sight. The rats were handling it as they knew best; beating the wretches with knotted bits of rope till they stopped.

As the fox crossed the deck, another sight greeted him. From the searat vessel two crew rats were busy tossing the bodies of dead slaves over the side. Lack of food, bitter cold, and hard labour had ended their pitiful lives. Watching their limp forms hit the fridged waters an idea came to his mind.

"Ahoy there." He bellowed to the neighbouring ship.

The rats turned towards him, pausing in their grizzly task.

"Stop tossing those bodies into the sea and send them to shore." He shouted.

The rats looked puzzled, not fully understanding the instructions. "Quoi?"

Remembering the language barrier the fox attempted to explain his meaning in a series of motions. Indicating with his paws that they should stop what they were doing.

"Vous etes drole!" One of the rats laughed, and they continued to their task.

As luck would have it Rawtooth the stoat, who had previously helped translate upon their arrival, was passing by. Konnel grabbed the stoat by the scarf about his neck and pulled him over. "Tell them to stop, what they're doing." He spoke in frustration.

Rubbing his neck the stoat called to the rats. "Arret"

The rats paused again. Konnel issued further instructions hastily. "Tell them, to take the dead slaves to shore. And wait for me."

"Per nets le morts a terre" He spoke shakely.

"A la terre?" They shouted in return.

"Oui." The stoat shouted in return.

Shrugging the rats complied. They stopped tossing the dead over the side, and instead lugged them to the shore. Konnel also went ashore, making sure to bring Rawtooth with him. The two crew beasts dumped the bodies of four dead squirrels at Knonnel's feet.

"Mercy buckets" Rawtooth thanked them.

Thinking both creatures strange, the crew beasts quickly returned to their other duties. Neither cared to know what was in store for the bodies.

Konnel wrinkled his nose at the stench. These were perfect for his plan. "Rawtooth, grab another to help you and blacked these squirrels up a bit with ash from the fire."

"Sir?"

"I want you to make these beasts look as if they died of plague."

"Plague sir? But why do a horrible thing like that?" Rawtooth knew as well as any that everybeast feared the great sickness. Rats were said to spread the wicked illness. He didn't know why Konnel would want to make it look like they had the sickness among them.

Grinning Konnel was all too happy to explain his plan. "We make it look like they died of plague. Then we toss them over the fortress walls. It will cause panic among Tarza's creatures, and panicked creatures are all the more likely to surrender. "

The stoat glanced blankly at Konnel for several moments, and then nodded. The silvery fox never could figure out if the stoat understood his plan or not. Rawtooth for his knack for picking up strange words wasn't the brightest stoat. Still, he obediently shuffled off dragging the corpses through the snow towards the nearest fire.


	4. Chapter 4: Plans

Chapter 4: Plans

A plan was quickly formulating in Konnel's mind. The white fox paced around the seaside camp muttering to himself as he ran through every possible detail. He knew, as did most of the vermin that Tarza would not stand for the insults paid to her this day. There would be retribution, and even as they formed up on the beach, she was likely making plans of her own. Konnel wasn't about to be offered up as Fredik's sacrifice. The fox knew he would need to use every ounce of cunning he could muster to finish this feud between the two mink.

He watched as Fredik's creature's unloaded supplies and weaponry from their own ships. Mink and other vermin had been sent into the forests to harvest stout trees. These would be used to construct a battering ram and a series of three crude catapults. Others built sledges with which to haul weapons and supplies to the site of battle.

"We'll build a siege tower." Konnel announced aloud, though nobeast was near him. "We shall build a tower, high enough to reach the top of the wall, fill it with archers and casks of oil." He cast a calculating glance towards the lumber already collected. Flicking his tail pensively he ran the numbers, how many beasts would he need, how much wood, how many archers could be spared? Unlike Nicara he wouldn't dream of presenting an idea without giving it every consideration.

Nicara was in a foul mood, as was growing to be more and more common. The vixen quickly realized invading and conquering was not as easy as she hoped. There was a lot of waiting around, this particularly displeased her. In her wanderings around the camp, she came upon Fredik who was in council with his captains around a warm fire. The mink did nothing to send the vixen off, and allowed her a spot to warm herself.

"Our immediate problem is those hounds." She spoke up, anxious to do something. "We should slay them all and be done with them."

Fredik's own beagle Tracker huffed, his hot breath mingling with the cold winter air. His dark lips curled up in a growl exposing the row of canine teeth. The mink passed him a warning glance.

"Tracker vill see to dese hounds." He explained, but the answer didn't please the vixen.

"Those devils slaughtered at least four of my creatures."

Tracker gave a barking laugh. "An' they will slay many more before this fight is over. My brother Hunter knows these forests, your creatures don't."

"An' just whose side are you on anyway?"

To this, the beagle laughed again but his brown eyes gazed deep into the vixen, there was something unsettling about the way the hound stared. "Like any good hound, I stay on the side that sees me fed and cared for. My brother will do the same. You've seen what they can do vixen, beasts like that are hard to come by. There is no need to slaughter them all, once they see who has the upper paw they will come around."

Nicara looked on with disbelief, was Fredik truly willing to trust these beasts? From the look of the mink it seemed he did, but not without some caution.

Rising off his haunches Tracker barked to his beagles, all fully armed wearing the tabards of this master. "I think we best go for a run, get the lay of the land and see if we can't find Hunter." He spoke no words to his troops; just a few sounds came from his throat. To the untrained ear it might sound as if Tracker had some sort of cough, but to the beagles the noises were clear commands. They dashed in formation, scattering as they met the tree line.

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The night wore on and Fredik's camp tried to gain what sleep they could. Sentries were posted in the surrounding area, as it was suspected Tarza may attempt to drive them out. A few of Nicara's vermin were assigned this task, mixed in with Fredik's troops and the various mercenaries and corsairs. They tended to huddle among themselves. The language barrier was making an already stressful situation all the worse for the lowly hordesbeast. They couldn't understand commands or orders, even when the minks commanding them attempted to sign or otherwise indicate their orders. Frequently the lowest of Nicara's ranks were beaten or otherwise humiliated for making mistakes. They were thought to be idiots by the superior officers and even other beasts of equal rank. The varying corsair and mercenary crews seemed to welcome one another to share vittles or the warmth of a fire, but this simple comradeship was not extended to the vermin of the southlands.

Two weasels; Dingear and Bitwort had been simple wharf-weasels prior to Nicara taking them from their village. They knew their way around a fight sure enough, but fighting in a tavern was far different than waging war. They clutched their slings for dear life. Staying close to one another they watched the forest for any sign of trouble.

Dingear wrapped his grubby cloak about his lanky neck. It was worn and thin, hardly any protection against this bitter cold. "What I'd give fer a warm fire an' a nice mug o'grog right about now."

Bitwort blew on his paws trying to keep a bit of life in them. "Stow that gab messmate, won't do you any good anyhow. We're stuck out here all till daybreak, if we're lucky to live that long. Methinks those mad beasts will charge after us again. No warm fire or any amount o'grog would save ye then."

Shuffling around in the snow to keep himself awake, Dingear scoffed at his friend's grim outlook. "I dunno, give me enough grog and I doubts I'd care what those hounds might do t'me."

The two weasels laughed hoarsely, catching the attention of one of the mink officers.

"Shhh..." He hissed pressing a claw to his lips indicating silence. He had given up trying to communicate in any other fashion. The sleek black creature, moved on to the next guard posting, leaving as quietly and as quickly as he had arrived.

"Huh, shh yerself y'great grease bag." Bitwort muttered as the mink departed.

"Bitty, y'can't talk like that." His friend warned. "If 'e 'ears ye ye'll be flogged fer sure."

"That beast don't know what I'm saying not more than I know what 'e's saying. Ain't no fear o'us being beaten for back talking an officer. Not when they can't tell if we is back talking 'em."

Dingear scratched his head thinking over Bitwort's words. "Huh, suppose y'got a point there. Yah, off y'go y'great grease bag." He shouted in the darkness. He nudged Bitwort's shoulder. "See what I did there?" He asked most pleased with himself for following his friend's lead. When the weasel didn't say anything he nudged him again harder this time. "Come on Bitty, quit playing."

But Bitwort wasn't playing. Slumping into the snow the weasel fell down stone dead. Dingear crouched, unsure of what had happened. Protruding from the weasel's neck was a bolt made of wood delicate yet deadly. The poisoned bolt had been fired from a crossbow, the shooter out in the darkness, somewhere. Dingear immediately erupted with panic. Leaving his post he shouted.

"Somebeast is shooting, look out mates! poison darts!"

The other southlanders caught the warning immediately and began looking for cover. For some, the warning took a little time to sink in. More cries came up from the parameter as more sentries fell to the weapon. Suddenly shouts in all manner of tongues could he heard, sending out the warning that indeed somebeast was attacking.

The little poisoned bolts whistled through the winter air. They found two more targets, one of Fredik's minks, and a burly rat mercenary. The rat wore a tunic made of heavy linked chainmail. It did little to protect him from the toxic dipped projectile that caught him through the snout.

In a mad dash of panic some of the lower ranking mink turned tail and fled back towards camp. Dingear was of mind to join them. Without any warning one of the retreating mink tumbled to the snow covered earth dead. No poison bolt snuffed them out. None of the vermin dared move as one of the mink captains strode towards the dead. Without a flinch the officer pulled his arrow from the mink's back, wiped it clean and replaced it in his quiver. Dingear didn't need to understand the language to know the message. Retreat was not an option.

More mink and mercenaries arrived, bringing with them torches and longbows. Several shots were fired into the darkness, no sound of injury or death rewarded the effort. Trying to shelter himself behind a tree, Dingear loaded his sling, anxious to at least look less cowardly. He near jumped out of his skin when one the beagles came upon him. He lifted his loaded sling, aiming to use it as a club, but the hound caught it, preventing the blow.

"You idiot, we're on the same side." He indicated he was wearing one of Fredik's tabards. His ears flopped as he shook his head. Had Dingear been less terrified, he might have thought this quite comical.

"Oh, sorry mate." The weasel apologized, hoping not to evoke the hound's wrath.

Rather than beating or shouting at the weasel for his mistake, the beagle was quite surprised and most relieved that they shared a common tongue. He pounded Dingear heartily on the back with a heavy paw.

"Just try t'watch for next time. 'sides if I was one of Hunter's dogs, you'd be dead." He smirked, the joke only bringing the weasel more fear. "What's all the noise about anyhow? Tracker's sending us around t'have a look see."

Before the weasel had a chance to explain, the hound started sniffing the air. His square muzzle twitched as he deeply inhaled the night air. "Smell that?"

Dingear snorted loudly as he tried to imitate the hound. "Naw, nothing but cold, an' the stench of that blasted whale oil stuff."

The beagle shook his head and continued tracking the scent through the air. "No, out this away, I smell rats. Not searats, forest rats. I can smell pine on them."

Dingear sniffed again. "You must got some snout on ye matey. 'ey don't go that way, they'll get y'for sure." The weasel watched as the beagle moved out deeper into the forest. He followed after him, his curiosity about these strange hounds outweighing his fear of the poisoned bolts. Dingear couldn't help but feel safer with the hound, than with the other guards.

Plodding through the snow, he struggled to keep up. The beagle hot on the scent looked all the world like an excited child. "If you're coming you have to keep up." He whispered back. The white tipped tail wagged as he followed his nose.

Scrambling Dingear hurried along, his loaded sling at his side. Up ahead he caught the sound of a rustling branch, without thinking he let a stone fly. There was a low _thud_ followed by the further rustling of brush as the body of a rat fell into the low-lying shrub. The rat had a bolt fastened to his small crossbow; he was perhaps only a moment from firing on either one of them.

The beagle pulled the body out of the shrubs, getting a good look and smell of him. Dingear watched amazed at how the hound worked. "That's him. That's the one who was shooting by us, must have snuck back her when he saw me coming." He nodded his head to Dingear. "My thanks to you."

Dingear shrugged modestly."T'was nothing matey, you would 'ave done the same for me." The look he got from the beagle, suggested this may not have been the case.

"You killed the rat; he was going to slay me. That means I owe you weasel."

Dingear rather liked the sounds of this. "Yeah, I suppose it do. I'm Dingear, what do they call you?"

The beagle was already on the scent again, his answer in a low whisper. "I'm called Chase."

Chase trailed on ahead, and then suddenly paused. Dingear readied his sling, anticipating another rat. Instead Chase began making the most haunting noise the weasel had ever heard. The low baying howl echoed through the forest. Suddenly it was returned by another series of barks.

"What's that about?" The weasel shuddered.

"The second rat won't be causing us any grief, Tracker got him good." The beagle returned to Dingear's side sighing. "Too bad, would have liked t'have sport with him."

Dingear gulped."Er… Sport?"

Chase nodded. "Yeah, y'know give chase, wear him down a bit. Then finish him off, maybe take out his legs first." He sighed discontent. "Not much sport up here. All of Fredik's enemies are terribly slow. I almost hope some of Tarza's beagles give us chase, what I'd give for a good run."

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Fredik examined the bolts and cross bow, one of Tracker's hounds had brought him. When he had finished with it he tossed it angrily in the fire, letting fly a string of curses. Konnel watched, having been called to council. The mink lord paced around the fire, until he came upon Konnel's position.

"Tell me again of dis plan of yours." He insisted.

The white fox having carefully prepared the idea was only too willing to. "We lay siege to the fortress. Catapults to the walls, batter the doors, and construct a great siege tower that will pout burning oil over Tarza's walls. We pummel her with stones of course, but we must use another weapon. We will insight fear among her creatures, drive them mad. We make her beasts think the rat's slaves have the plague, even that we ourselves are infected. We toss the bodies of dead slaves over her walls. When they see the bloated and discolored corpses they will suspect nothing less. It won't matter that the beasts died of exhaustion or the cold. Nobeast wants to be trapped inside a fortress, much less one with plague. "

The mink scratched his chin. "I like dis." He spoke slowly."Yes, yes I like dis." He gave his mink several commands indicating that they were to follow Konnel's plans. They would lay siege to Tarza.


	5. Chapter 5: A Wedding

Chapter 5: A Wedding

A wedding was just what the hares at Salamandastron needed. It provided the perfect distraction from the cold of winter, and the battle on the north coast. Word had filtered through the ranks that the next day more would be going north to fight the searats.

Owing to the circumstances, it wouldn't be a large scale wedding. This didn't bother Brea of Mayweed; they liked to keep things simple. They tried to downplay the event, insisting that none of their friends go to any trouble on their account. After all, they were getting married on short notice, and celebrations would be cut short due to the forward march. Around the mess hall hares joked that the couple planned everything around the battle so they could have a proper Long Patrol honeymoon. The hares of the Long Patrol had all sorts of sayings and superstitions when it came to important life events. It was said that if a couple married and marched to war the next day that there's would be a long and happy marriage. There were of course variations on this saying, but most agreed that it was a lucky time to wed.

For all their efforts to make the wedding a simple affair, their friends were not about to let the celebration go without some Salamandastron fun. Mayweed's three roommates; Bluebell, Honeysuckle, and Pennycloud were up at first light. As Mayweed had no other family on the mountain it was up to them to ensure particular traditions were upheld. The four had been roommates from the time they were fourth season leverets. There was never a closer quartet to be found, they lived and acted as sisters. Going from door to door in the barracks the haremaids carried a large basket and sang the gift song, which was always altered to include the names of the couple.

"Open your doors when you hear us sing,

Today's the day of May's wedding.

We come with a basket for gifts y'see.

Today's the day May's marrying Brea."

Over and over they sang the short verse carrying their basket to each door. It was never required for anybeast to contribute, but most did. Gifts were always simple tokens or small and practical. Typical gifts consisted of flowers, herbs or fruits and berries collected from the shores. As it was winter the young hares especially had to get more creative in their gifts. At the young galloper's dorm, the three maids were presented with a garland of paper flowers to use as decorations. As they continued their rounds they received more gifts: a paw stitched set of pocket handkerchiefs, a quilt, an ornate slingstone pouch, and many other presents. Once they had visited every dorm and room in the barracks they returned to their own, setting the gift out and sorting through them.

Mayweed sat on her bunk amazed at the generosity. "My, this can't all be for me a Brea?" She asked in disbelief.

Giggling and wiggling ears the maids nodded. "Indeed it all is May." Chimed in Bluebell.

Preparing the bride for her wedding day, didn't take long. As she intended on wearing her uniform Mayweed dressed herself. The other girls got into their own tunics, each helping to straighten collars. Bluebell started to polish Mayweed's buttons when suddenly she started to cry. Once the tender hearted Bluebell started the others quickly followed. Drying her friend's eyes with the sleeve of her tunic Mayweed hugged her tightly.

"What has upset you so?" She asked.

Sniffing and wiping her yes with her own sleeve Bluebell sighed. "You're leaving us."

Soon Honeysuckle was crying fresh tears. "This is the last time we'll get ready in the morning together."

Pennycloud sobbed openly. "An' we won't be up late telling stories anymore."

Mayweed hugged all her friends together; she wrapped her arms about them holding them tight. "It isn't as though I'm leaving the bally mountain. I'll still be here."

"But you'll be living with Brea from now on." Pennycloud sniffed.

"And all of you will have husbands of your own perhaps. But we shall see each other in the mess and about the mountain. It may be large but it can't keep us apart."

This seemed to cheer the maids up; they hugged wiping their eyes and went back to getting ready for the ceremony.

While permitted, Mayweed would not be wearing any gown or ornate garbs to her wedding. The best Long Patrol number one dress was the only attire she desired. Buttoning up her top buttons, she looked herself over in the small mirror. She looked every inch the Salamandastron bride, although an outsider might never pick her from the crowd. With her three bridesmaids in tow, the four made their way to forge.

Both Brea and Mayweed were quiet as far as hares went. They never liked to cause any fuss, and being centre of attention was more an embarrassment than honour. As result, the ceremony itself was to be a private affair. The reception however, that was an entirely other matter.

The forge fire had a gentle amber glow. Every hare that was dear to the couple had assembled, all stood with the exception of Colonel Hardan. He sat on a comfortable wooden chair, decked out in rows upon rows of highly polished medals. Brea stood up with Lady Oranna, and his two groomsmen the Linwood brothers Tutsan and Aubrey. Brea stood stalk still, eyes on the badgerlady. Aubrey however turned on occasion to spy Mayweed and the party forming up to enter.

He leaned across his brother to nudge his friend. "She looks rather nice t'day."

Tutsan pressed a paw to his lips hushing his younger brother.

"Oh hush y'self stuffy whiskers. I'm just saying May looks quite good."

The little Linwood daughters, each in pale blue gowns, clutched baskets of paper flowers. Bounding before the maids they scattered their flowers on the forge stones. Mayweed strode behind them, accompanied by her three maids. When they had reached the males, Letti and Blyth scrambled off to stand with their mother. Brea at last turned to see his bride. Flushed to the ears they both smiled and linked paws, each looked as if they might take to a fit of giggles or tears at any moment.

Beaming with pride, Oranna bobbed her head to the young couple. This was to be her first wedding ceremony, and she hoped to be called upon for many more during her time as ruler of Salamandastron. Placing her large paw over top theirs she began the questions her mother had instructed her on.

"Do you promise devote your lives to one another, in whatever the seasons may bring you, in joy and in sorrow?"

Two heads nodded and together they spoke together. "I do."

"And, do you promise to live in love, and show care to one another, as you are bound from two to one."

Again there was the reply. "I do."

"Do you swear to take the other for all their strengths and flaws? That you were serve the other as you serve your mountain home?"

At this last question both in unison spoke the oath made of all Long Patrol hares on their wedding day.

"I swear it on my honour as a hare of the Long Patrol. As I have made my oath to Salamandastron and her protectors, so I swear to love you through all my seasons."

At this announcement, the ceremony was concluded. Brea and Mayweed turned to the assembly kissing one another gently, sealing the promises of love and devotion. Amid the applause that followed, Aubrey was heard to sniff; he then turned so to hide the tears he was shedding.

The small group of friends accosted the couple with warm pawshakes and hugs. Each offering last bits of advise or well wishes.

Clearing her throat Oranna's voice boomed over the small forge room. "Our kitchen staff has arranged, as a gift to the couple a day of feasting. We had best hurry if we want to get anything at all."

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What a feast was planned, from morning till evening there was nothing but food and celebration. Of course the purpose of this was twofold. While every hare on the mountain enjoyed a wedding celebration, many would be leaving the next dawn to fight rats up north. While it was the furthest from anybeast's mind, there was the possibility that some would not be returning.

The newlyweds were overwhelmed by well-wishers. The typically quiet Mayweed was especially caught off guard by the many kind words and warm embraces. A small table had been prepared especially for them. Kitchen hares waited on them; bringing them anything they could need or want. Their tankards were never empty the cellar keeper even broached his finest ales for the occasion. Despite all the merriment and good food Brea was saddened to see his new wife didn't seem to be enjoying the celebrations. Her plate of food sat before her, largely untouched. Little more than a few bites taken from her hot pot.

"What's the matter May?" Brea whispered to her.

Sighing, the shy hare glanced up towards her husband. "It's all this attention. Can't we get away a moment, I'm so flustered I fear I might faint if another creature passes on congratulation."

Smiling, Brea kissed her gentle paw, patting it to reassure her. "Never you fret, just a moment, I'll see to it we get well away from everybeast." He excused himself from his seat.

Mayweed watched him depart, curious as to what he might be getting up to. The tall hare sought out his long time roommate. Aubrey wasn't hard to find, he was deep into a leek and mushroom flan. From the time the feasting had begun, Aubrey was firmly planted in his seat. He had a napkin tucked into the neck of his tunic, and fork and spoon in paw. Often times all that could be seen were his ears emerging from behind one over laden pile of food or another.

"Time to discuss your wedding gift old chum." Brea grinned sitting on the bench beside Aubrey.

Washing the flan down with a long drink of ale, Aubrey wiped his mouth regarding his friend with a look of confusion. "Don't quite follow old chum."

"Right," Brea sighed. "Well Mayweed and I are now married."

"Oh I know that chap, I was blinking there dontcha know." Aubrey grinned.

"Quite, now, there has been some delay getting us new quarters."

"Right…" Aubrey nodded.

"So, as such I want Mayweed to stay in our room until such time as we get our own living quarters."

"But that's not possible old thingamy." Aubrey sighed. "You see, I sleep there. Would be dashed awkward don't you think. I like the gel and all, but it simply isn't the done thing."

Brea rubbed his temples. "You wouldn't be staying there too old chap. I'm asking you to take up a bunk in the barracks tonight."

"In the blinking barracks?"

"Oh come now, it won't be so bad. It would be the jolly nicest thing you've ever done for me mate." Brea smiled winningly.

Aubrey frowned. He took another mouthful of food chewing slowly. Brea did look happy, and it would mean so much to him. "Dash it all, I'll do it. But don't go saying I've never done anything for you wot."

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After a night of feasting and celebration, it seemed Aubrey was in a bit of trouble with his living arrangements. The only space available seemed to be in the section of rooms allotted to young cadets under the supervision of Sergeant Dingworthy. These young hares were not even fully fledged members of the Long Patrol yet. At the very mention Aubrey's ears were in a twist.

"Dingworthy… sleeping in the bally green barracks of Digworthy's bucks, couldn't get much worse I'm sure." He muttered to himself as he trudged down the hall to where he would be staying.

The young hares were all caught off guard when they saw the Lieutenant enter the room. There were only three sharing the room. They each snapped to attention, giving quick salutes their ears perfectly straight. Aubrey sighed waving them off as he entered. "As you were m'laddos." He sighed.

The three each in their nightshirts watched as the officer strolled around the small room and set down his pack. The extra bunk was a bottom one, much to Aubrey's relief. He wasn't sure he could scramble up and down ladders anymore. Not after many tankard of ale anyway. As would be expected of young recruits; the bed was well made the sheets crisp and clean and expertly folded. Aubrey snorted; Dingworthy probably didn't expect anything less.

The young trio watched curiously as Aubrey began pushing back the sheets and fluffing up the pillow and generally making himself at home. They glanced at one another than the tallest strode forward. "Beg pardon 'tenant, but what are you doing sah?"

Aubrey sighed, slipping out of his tunic to sleep in his undershirt. "Going to sleep lads, good night and all that rot."

"You're staying here… with us?" One of the others asked excitedly.

"So it seems."

"But why."

"Long story, haven't time to tell it young 'uns. No more questions. Early rise tomorrow and such wot wot." Aubrey tried to quell the questioning.

Just as the three were about to ask more questions one of the older cadets popped his head in. "Lights out." He announced closing the door. From the other side he added. "Don't make me remind you blighters again or you'll answer to the Sergeant next time."

All three stuck their tongues out as the footsteps quieted. Aubrey decided perhaps these young hares were not so bad after all. They dimmed the lamps and each got into his bunk.

"Do you often have to bunk down here 'tenant?" the smallest asked. Aubrey could tell he was by far the youngest. Perhaps he was starting a bit too early.

"No. I have my own room. But …" he tried to think up something to tell the young hares. "There were some repairs that had to be done."

He nearly jumped as a head appeared from the bunk above. "What sort of repairs?"

"Er… Bally window. Dashed drafty. Couldn't stay there, only other bed left was here."

After a moment of silence he breathed a sigh of relief. That seemed to satisfy the curiosity.

"Goodnight Biffy"

There was another pause.

"Goodnight Reggi"

Another longer pause.

"Goodnight Dodgy."

Aubrey sighed burying his head in the pillow.

"Goodnight 'tenant."

He closed his eyes trying to sleep. After a few moments the hare sleeping above him was prodding him.

"What is it young'un?"

The little hare leaned down nearly falling from his bed. "You didn't say goodnight back." He whispered loud enough that the whole room could hear.

With a slight grumble Aubrey rolled onto his back. " Righto. G'night Biffy, Reggi.. er… what was the last one?"

The cadet in the bunk across piped up. " Dodgy! Short for: Donnelthrope Oakpaw Dillstrum Gillifum Yarrow the second. But most chaps just call me Dodgy."

"As y'say young 'un. Now sleep's in order wot wot. We all said our goodnights. Busy day in the morning. I'm sure you lads have lots of marching and drilling and the like. I recall being very busy in my young seasons. A good sleep does wonders for a chap."

"Well, we would sleep sah, if only you would stop talking."

The three hares stifled chuckled. Aubrey just pulled the sheet up over his head.


	6. Chapter 6: The Winter of the Calm Snows

**Chapter 6: The Winter of the Calm Snows**

Abbot Werth stood at the top of the stairs that led into Cavern hole. The old fieldmouse had served as Father Abbot for many long seasons, yet he still marveled at the wonders of Redwall. He could watch for hours, quite contented, as all around him beasts great and small lived their peaceful lives. Werth considered it a great privilege to have lived long enough to see so many of the abbey dwellers come into the world and grow up into the woodlanders they were today.

This winter had been far kinder than most. As such Werth had named the season The Winter of the Calm Snows, for although the weather had been mild it had snowed a great deal. As he stood at the top of the stairs he could see Redwall's only hare Betony Samara, dressing the abbey dibbuns for an afternoon of play.

"I say Lumsy; hold still so I can get this blinking scarf about you." The hare struggled with a large knitted scarf, and a very small and squirmy mousebabe.

The dibbun chuckled and turned every which way, except for the direction the hare wished him to. "Gotta catch me Auntie Bet." He stuck out his tongue in a cheeky manner.

Abbot Werth tried not to laugh as Lumsy slipped away from Betony's grasp. The hare had been blessed with patience above all else. An attribute Werth observed not common among hares. Cinching the ties on her floral apron, Betony allowed the young creature a moment at his game. He didn't get very far, they never did. Though layered in petticoats and skirts the hare was still as sure footed as ever. Little Lumsy was all giggles and glee as his beloved auntie scooped him up, tickling as she did so.

The old abbot smiled, auntie indeed, for Betony would take no other name. He recalled meeting with the hare over breakfast the day she took the position of primary caregiver for the abbey's children. In days of old, the position fell to a female badger, which the abbey lovingly regarded as badgermother. As there were few badgers inclined to take the post, other woodlanders or abbey dwellers filled the role. Betony had never indicated a desire to join the order of Redwall. As such she wouldn't take on the title Sister. Brother Sebley, Redwall's recorder and historian recommended the title of Mem to Betony. While studying his dusty records he found mention of the title used for hares who had taken up the same calling at Redwall. Werth could still recall her laughter.

"_I'm afraid dear Brother that I cannot take up such a title." _Betony had said laughing till there were tears streaming down her face. _" Y' see, where I come from, that is what we call the wives of officers and such, particularly if the wife has no blooming title or rank of her own. My mother is called Mem, it would be jolly awkward to share such a moniker. Nothing can replace a mother's love. Perhaps I might be the doting aunt."_

So there it was, from that day forth to all the young of Redwall Betony became the favorite aunt.

Dibbuns filed past lined up in twos. Each youthful face alight with the anticipation of playing in the snow. Behind them Betony picked up dropped mittens and hats, carefully returning them to their owners as they hooted and laughed eagerly heading up the stairs and towards the door.

"Good afternoon Father Abbot." Betony smiled cheerfully, as she brought up the rear.

"Taking the dibbuns outside I see." Werth returned the warm smile.

"Yes, Brother Finnare and Benken Pricklum tell me they have a surprise for the young 'uns." It was easy to tell by the expression on the hare's face that even she didn't know what was in store.

Scratching his whiskers Werth followed, equally curious. "I wonder what those two have gotten up to. I seem to recall Brother Sebley mentioning Finnare missing some of his lessons. Might I join you? I am curious as to what our cellar hog and novice Brother have planned for our dibbuns."

A warm cloak was found for the Abbot. Mild as the winter may be, nobeast wanted to catch a chill. Especially as Redwall would be one healer short until the spring season. Paw in paw the pair followed the excited dibbuns to the Abbey ground.

Snow had fallen fresh that morning it clung to the battlements like icing on a freshly baked cake. All around the orchards and open spaces were transformed into a magical world. Fresh snow lay smooth and even on the ground, save for the common walkways it was untouched.

The high pitched squeals of delight heralded the much anticipated surprise. Benken Pricklum the portly cellarhog trudged through the snow a rope slung over his shoulder. Behind him he dragged a long toboggan with enough spots to seat ten dibbuns. Finnare too dragged along the same. When it came to the order of Redwall, Finnare was a bit unusual. Most of the Brothers and Sisters grew up at Redwall and became novices of the order at a young age. Finnare was a seaotter; while not young he was certainly not old. His scraggly beard and heavily tattooed paws seemed quite strange in contrast to his light green habit. It appeared the otter was struggling with his new manner of dress. Being used to tunics and sailing clothes, the modest habit was a bit cumbersome.

"So that was what they were up to." Abbot Werth smiled.

"Ahoy me little mateys." The jovial otter called to the excited group of dibbuns." Who would like a ride aboard these two fine vessels o' ours eh?"

Paws shot up from all present.

Benken grinned. "Oh ho, wot a pity Finn, seems none wish t'ave a ride."

"Hurr Zurr Pricklurr, us un's want ee roide burr oi." Digom the molebabe said holding high his digging claws.

"Oh do ye matey?" Finnare smiled. "Well come aboard this fine craft. Come on y' an ten little mates. Mr. Pricklum and I will take a score at a time, once around the grounds."

At this announcement there were more shouts and cries, with dibbuns arguing or begging to go first. Betony was quick to put an end to it. "Quiet, all of you." She called above the din. "Now Brother Finnare and Mr. Pricklum have been rather kind to you lot. So let us not spoil this wot." Her frown melted as the young ones all looked to their footpaws ashamed. " Now then, I shall pick, and when that group returns I shall tell you who may go next. "

Names were called and order was restored. Otter and hedgehog showed their great strength as they started pulling the babes around the grounds.

"Strong as badgers those two." Betony remarked.

Abbot Werth nodded. "Indeed, strong and generous the pair of them." He sighed. "I commend Finnare for his great kindness he bestows on the abbey dibbuns but I must admit I worry about our new Brother."

Betony's ears wriggles as they tend to do when a hare is confused. "Why is that Father?"

"Brother Finnare has missed many of his lessons with Brother Sebley. Our recorder has kindly offered to tutor Finnare privately. In order to become a member of the order a creature must know our basic history, and how to read and write. Finnare has never had the opportunity to acquire these skills before now. Our good Brother Sebley offered to privately tutor Finnare so to not cause embarrassment. Yet despite Sebley's efforts he doesn't seem eager to learn. I wonder if perhaps Finnare really understands the responsibility of becoming a Brother of Redwall. I fear he may discover that a habit is not an easy garment to wear."

Listening patiently to the Abbot, Betony pursed her lips as she thought. After a moment she came up with a possible solution. "If I may Father Abbot; perhaps Finnare would do better in class with the young'uns. As you can see by the kind surprise he and our cellar hog put together, he cares very much for them. Seasons know Sister Filia and I could use the help. Finnare would be a welcomed addition; he can learn and help us mind the little ones while he's there. "

The old mouse smiled. "Once again my friend you help me see that for every problem there is a solution close to paw. "

Everything was going well in the calmness of the winter afternoon. That was until Darrow the squirrel bellringer started tolling an alarm. "Fire! Fire at the main gate!" He shouted for all he was worth.

Hearing the alarm raised Finnare and Benken dropped the ropes.

"Back t' yer Auntie Bet now young 'uns." The cellarhog instructed. Nodding to the seaotter the two followed the other Redwallers towards the main gate. Brother Sebley had been napping in his gatehouse when otter and hedgehog came through.

"What in the name of Martin's ghost?" the dormouse reached for his spectacles. "Ah, Finnare there you are, late again I see." He scolded.

The seaotter shook his head, trying to carefully and quickly pass around the shelves of books and scrolls without upsetting any haphazard piles. "Sorry Brother, there's fire by the main gate, must see to it."

"Fire?" Sebley blinked and started to reach for the most important items for fear of losing them forever.

"Settle Matey." The otter reassured. "Isn't bad as that."

The recorder started to lecture the novice on the importance of preserving historical records, but the pair was already leaving. Grumbling he wrapped a homespun cloak over his habit and followed them to the gate house door.

Outside the gates there had indeed been a small fire. It didn't take Benken and Finnare long to extinguish it with snow. The burning bundle of branches and mosses smoked a moment more until it was finally out. It had to have been placed there. It was far enough away so to not accidently catch any anything near the abbey on fire. There were also pawprints, although these were mostly brushed away by whoever left them. What remained could not be identified.

"They wanted us to see smoke alright." Benken remarked as he kicked the pile to be sure it was all out.

"Why would they do that?" Brother Sebley questioned from his doorway.

"Mayhaps they wanted us t'find this?" Finnare held a bundle in his paws. A strange squeal came from within the rags.

"What be that?" asked the hedgehog.

"A babe, though naught like one I've ever seen."

Finnare brought the creature back inside the abbey grounds. Redwallers gathered round, curious as to why there had been fire outside their walls. Without answering the barrage of questions Finnare brought the bundle straight to Betony and the Abbot.

"Found this. Whoever left it wanted us to find it right away." He pulled the rags back so they could see the babe within. She was small, with limbs twisted tight to her body. Her brush tail was spare of fur and crooked. "Don't quite know what it is." The otter covered it up again not wanting it to catch cold.

"It's a squirrelbabe." The Abbot said gently. "And it is good you and Benken were able to get out there so quickly. A babe has no place in the snow."

"Did the cold do it to 'er Father Abbot?" The otter asked, with worry in his voice.

Werth shook his head. "No my son." He placed a paw on the otter's back reassuringly. Sighing heavily he headed back for the building. "Come Finnare we best get the little one to the infirmary."

Betony watched with a heavy heart as the two creatures conversed along the way. She knew the questions the kind seaotter was asking. It was plain on his lips. Why, why would anybeast leave a babe in the cold? It was a question she had asked herself many times during her time as dibbun caregiver. This was a question that left a funny taste on the tongue and an empty hole in the belly. It was a question always whispered and never said outright, as everybeast feared the answer.


End file.
